#Delia's Writing

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

It’s funny that I feel ashamed of posting this here, on a blog where I regularly reblog porn and stuff, but to be fair to me, putting anything out into the world to be judged by others is kind of terrifying.

Anyway, for those interested, here’s the Pudding Closure thing (18+). I wrote a while ago and never uploaded until yesterday. I originally was using it to try to get used to writing smut, but then I got emotional and it went a different direction… hope at least someone enjoys it anyway <3

[struggling-with-drivers]

Under the Opulence - Max Verstappen

⋗ Pairing - Max Verstappen x Reader

⋗ Summary - Your family isn't kind to you, and in fact, they all think Max would be a much better fit for your sister. Max likes to differ.

⋗ Word count - 3.4k words, hurt/comfort

⋗ Masterlist - This has been finished for some time, but I've only gotten around to given it a name Feedback and reblogs are appreciated

The grandeur of your family's foyer, adorned with polished marble and intricate chandeliers, set the stage for Max’s introduction to the world you came from. As you and Max entered, the echoes of your footsteps reverberated through the opulent space, the air charged with excitement and anxiety, but most noticeably on your side, dread. 

Gabriella, your sister, emerged from an adjoining room, her presence demanding attention. With her radiant smile and effortless poise, she seemed to glide into the scene like a queen entering her court. She was the star of the family, the golden child who effortlessly commanded attention and adoration. With her striking looks and sharp intellect, she had always been the one to effortlessly charm anyone who crossed her path. Even your past romantic interests had succumbed to her allure, leaving you with the bitter taste of never good enough.

"It's okay, we're sisters," Gabriella would nonchalantly reassure you. "They weren't good enough for you if they wanted me more."

Her eyes, adorned with an air of confidence, locked onto Max, acknowledging his presence with a subtle yet unmistakable hint of curiosity. Bluntly scrutinising Max, she drank him up with her eyes, then she battered her long eyelashes a few times before slotting into the role of the perfect twin sister.

Max, a bit taken aback by the unexpected encounter, met Gabriella's gaze with a polite smile. That was all your sister needed before stepping forward, presenting her hand gracefully, a subtle gesture that belied the underlying power dynamics at play. Max, being the gentleman he was, reciprocated the greeting with a warm shake. However, as the customary exchange lingered for a moment longer than expected, you felt an unspoken tension building. 

“Gabriella, but you – my dear – can call me Gabbie.” Her voice sang in the foyer, bouncing so wonderfully off the walls. You wanted nothing more than to leave. Their hands were still intertwined. 

Instinctively, you began to withdraw your hand from his left, realising that you were caught in an awkward silence. Gabriella's grip on Max's hand tightened imperceptibly, and you hesitated for a split second, torn between asserting yourself and avoiding a confrontation. Finally, you reluctantly released Max's hand, a subtle concession that felt like surrender.

However, your parents made their grand entrance, drawn by the commotion in the foyer.

Gabriella finally let go of Max. She stepped back, allowing a brief respite from the charged exchange. 

Your mother, an elegant woman with an air of sophistication, approached with a warm smile. "Oh, there you all are! We were starting to wonder when you'd make it to the heart of the festivities."

As she spoke, her eyes lingered on Gabriella and Max, a subtle but knowing gleam in her eyes. It was as if she sensed the unspoken currents beneath the surface. Your father, a more reserved figure, stood beside her, observing the scene with a discerning gaze.

"Mom, Dad, this is Max," you introduced, trying to steer the conversation away from the palpable tension that lingered.

With an air of practised nonchalance, Gabriella returned her attention to Max, a playful smile gracing her lips. "Well, Max, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you," she purred, her words leaving an ambiguous trail of intentions.

She tried to grasp his hand once again, but instead, he started helping you out of your coat to keep his hands busy.

Max, still wanting to leave a good impression, responded with a friendly smile. "Likewise, Gabriella. Your sister here has spoken highly of you too," he said, casting a glance in your direction, before he extended a polite hand toward your parents, exchanging pleasantries as he tried to steer the conversation towards the two newcomers in the foyer. 

Gabriella subtly positioned herself beside him, a silent claim reaffirmed. The atmosphere remained charged, your parents seemingly ignorant of the intricate dynamics playing out before them. The dreadful feeling returned to you as your mom made eye contact with you once more. You averted your eyes.

Gabriella, seizing the opportunity, looped her arm through Max's, as if marking her territory. "Max, let me give you a tour of this magnificent place. There are so many things you haven't seen yet," she exclaimed, her tone holding a mixture of innocence and mischief.

Your heart sank as you watched them disappear into the lavish corridors of your family home.

“Let them go, honey. I’m sure he will be quite interested in our family’s history.” Your mother commented, foregoing the formality of any other type of recognition or greeting to you as she and your dad disappeared after Gabriella and Max.

Leaving you on your own in the opulent foyer, you wished to leave once more.

Determined to regain some semblance of composure, you wandered into the adjacent parlour, a room adorned with plush furniture and rich tapestries. The soft glow of antique lamps cast a warm ambience, but even the comforting setting couldn't dispel the growing unease. You settled into a chair, the plush upholstery offering little solace for the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. The room seemed to close in on you as you anxiously waited for Max and Gabriella to return. The dreadful feeling intensified with every passing moment, and your mind raced with unsettling thoughts.

Finally, the door swung open, and they entered the parlour. Gabriella's laughter echoed through the room. Max wore a polite smile, seemingly having enjoyed the tour, but you couldn't shake the feeling that Gabriella was orchestrating an elaborate performance.

"This place is quite… something," Max said, casting a glance in your direction as if seeking reassurance or acknowledgement. You tried to smile at him. Gabriella, however, continued to dominate the spotlight.

"We have quite the family history," she replied with a sly smile, her eyes flickering between Max and you. "It's a shame you won't be able to hear all the juicy details."

You forced another smile in response, but the unease gnawed at you. As they settled into the room, Gabriella strategically took the seat next to Max, her gestures and expressions aimed at enchanting him right before your eyes.

The conversation flowed effortlessly between them, a dance of words that excluded you from its rhythm. You felt like a mere observer in your own home, watching as Gabriella captivated Max with tales of the family's past, her laughter ringing like an enchanting melody.

Your attempts to engage in the conversation were met with fleeting glances as if your presence were an afterthought. Gabriella was ever so quick to recapture Max’s attention, despite your valiant efforts to seek a way into the discussion.

Desperate for a reprieve, you finally excused yourself under the pretence of attending to something in the kitchen. As you escaped the room, the weight of the evening bore down on you, and you couldn't shake the sinking feeling that this family gathering had become a stage for a performance in which you had no choice but to play a reluctant supporting role.

In the kitchen, you busied yourself with trivial tasks, the rhythmic clinking of dishes providing a brief respite from the orchestrated drama in the parlour. The tension that had followed you from the foyer to the parlour lingered like an unwelcome guest, and you desperately sought a moment of solitude to collect your thoughts.

As you absentmindedly stacked plates from the dishwasher, your mother entered the kitchen, her gaze lingering on you with a knowing expression. It was as if she could sense the turbulence beneath the composed facade you were desperately trying to maintain.

"Oh, dear, are you alright?" she inquired, her tone carrying a hint of concern.

You forced a smile, attempting to deflect the obvious discomfort. "I'm fine, just needed a moment away from the chatter in there."

Your mother's eyes softened, but there was a glint of curiosity. "Well, I must say, Gabriella and Max make quite the pair. They look so good together, don't you think?"

The question hung in the air, a subtle prod at the heart of the matter. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as you processed the implications of your mother's words. It was a commentary that cut through the facade you were desperately trying to maintain.

"Oh, Mom, they're just chatting. It doesn't mean anything," you responded, attempting to downplay the situation.

Your mother, however, seemed undeterred. "I don't know, dear. They do seem to have a certain chemistry, don't you think? They'd make a handsome couple."

The weight of her words settled on you like an anvil, and you struggled to find a suitable response. The kitchen, for a brief moment, had been a sanctuary, but now felt like a confessional where you were forced to confront the complexities of your feelings.

"I...I don't know, Mom. It's just an introduction," you stammered, your attempts to maintain composure faltering.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, and then she sighed, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You know, sometimes we find unexpected connections in the most peculiar places. And if they happen to find something special tonight, well, we should be happy for them, shouldn't we?"

You felt a surge of frustration and helplessness.

“It’s such a shame his looks just aren’t quite there, but he certainly has other features to make up for it. Wouldn’t you say so as well? Yes, a shame, but Gabriella has always been so kind-hearted. I’m sure she doesn’t mind either.” Your mother continued, before finally smiling at you. 

Her message was loud and clear, as she had expressed her approval of Max as a suitable match for Gabriella. 

Your mother wanted you to break up with Max and hand him over.

It was as though Max was a commodity to be exchanged, a possession for your sister to play with until she grew tired and moved on. It made you feel sick to the stomach. 

“Dinner is all ready, your father just put down the roast on the table.”

You followed your mother into the dining room, the scent of the roast filling the air. The grand table, adorned with fine china and polished silverware, became the stage for the next act in this familial drama.

As you took your seat, Max seated next to you, your parents strategically positioned Gabriella opposite Max. The tension in the room was palpable, and you couldn't shake the feeling that every word and gesture would be scrutinised.

"So, Max," your mother began, her eyes flickering between Max and Gabriella, "how did you find our home? Quite exquisite, isn't it?"

Max, thankfully pr-trained, nodded appreciatively. "It's a stunning place with so much history."

Gabriella's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and you braced yourself for what would come next. Your mother, however, wasn't finished.

"And speaking of history," she continued, casting a pointed look at Gabriella, "our family has quite a rich one. Gabriella, why don't you share some of the highlights? Max might find it fascinating."

“It’s alright, I think I heard enough earlier,” Max told your mom, “I would much rather hear childhood stories about her.” He turned his head, making himself able to look into your eyes, and you felt the dread spread. Despite the way he looked at you, it did nothing to calm you down, knowing your parents would not deliver what Max was expecting to be told about.

Max's genuine interest in hearing about your childhood seemed to momentarily disrupt the carefully choreographed performance. Your mother, however, skilfully manoeuvred to maintain the narrative she had meticulously constructed.

"Oh, Max, you're sweet," your mother said, offering a polite smile, "but Gabriella's achievements are the true highlights. She's always been the shining star of our family."

Your sister, seizing the opportunity, began to regale Max with tales of her academic triumphs, artistic pursuits, and social accomplishments. As she spoke, you felt the distance between you and Max widen, a chasm fuelled by your parents' insistence on casting Gabriella as the focal point of the conversation.

Max, sensing the discomfort, tried to redirect the conversation toward a more inclusive narrative. "I'm sure there are some other stories you could tell, perhaps some that aren’t about Gabriell-?"

“Please Max, do call me Gabby.” Gabriella interrupted Max.

Your mother exchanged a knowing glance with your father before responding, "Oh, there are plenty of stories, but I think Gabriella's achievements are what make our family truly special. Don't you agree, Max?"

Max hesitated for a moment, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. However, not wanting to create a scene, he nodded uncomfortably, "Yes, I guess Gabriella is quite accomplished."

Gabriella shot you a coy smile, her triumph was evident in the subtle control she exerted over the narrative. As the conversation continued to revolve around her, Max's attempts to steer it in a different direction seemed to hit an invisible wall.

Your parents, seemingly oblivious to Max's growing discomfort, continued to extol Gabriella's virtues. The room buzzed with the clinking of silverware and the murmur of praise, all while you sat there, a silent observer of your own family dinner.

As dessert was served, Max couldn't hide the subtle tenseness in his shoulders. He glanced at you, a mix of empathy and frustration in his eyes. Despite the challenging circumstances, you appreciated his efforts to bridge the gap.

When Max tried to ask about your childhood again, your mother skilfully redirected the conversation. "Oh, Max, we can talk about that another time. Let's focus on the present moment and enjoy the evening."

Your sister, seizing every opportunity to keep the spotlight, interjected, "You know, Max, I've always been curious about your interests and aspirations. Tell us more about yourself."

The shift in attention to Max was noticeable, but it wasn't the genuine interest he had hoped for. Instead, it felt like another tactic to steer the conversation away from you. Max, his patience waning, briefly shared short anecdotes about his work, nothing he hadn’t already told to the media. However, his eyes kept returning to you, his fingers intertwined with you. As though you were oblivious to the way your sister's feet – under the table – were trying to urge Max to look at her. 

The night wore on, and Max's frustration continued to build, a silent storm brewing within him. The genuine smile he had worn upon arrival had now transformed into a tight-lipped expression, betraying his growing discontent.

Your dad had taken it upon himself to serve a glass of whiskey to him and Max, while your mother brought forth an array of finger foods and other light and savoury snacks. Your family settled around the nice fireplace in the big sitting room, it’s even more extravagant and opulent than the smaller parlour room you had tried to take refuge in earlier in the day. 

When your sister, seemingly oblivious to the tension, leaned closer to Max, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "You know, Max, we're so thrilled to have you here. It's not often we get such distinguished company." 

Max, no longer willing to play along, shifted uncomfortably on the beige couch. "Thank you for having me. It's been... quite an experience," he replied, his tone carrying a subtle edge.

Your father, still under the illusion that the evening had gone splendidly, raised his glass. "A toast! To family and new beginnings."

Max's frustration reached its peak as his eyes locked on your dad’s raised glass. Max abruptly stood up, the sound of him slamming his glass down echoing in the sudden silence. The tension in the room was palpable as he looked directly at your parents.

"I appreciate your hospitality, but I can't ignore the blatant disregard for your own daughter," he said, his voice measured but firm. "I came here hoping to learn more about her, but it seems the spotlight is reserved for someone else."

Gabriella's eyes widened in feigned innocence, a practised mask that Max wasn't buying. Your parents exchanged uneasy glances, finally sensing the budding cracks in their carefully constructed facade.

"I won't be a part of a charade that dismisses her existence," Max continued, his frustration now laid bare. "If you can't appreciate the amazing person she is, then I want no part in this. Goodnight."

Without waiting for a response, Max pulled you from the couch. As you both retreated from the sitting room, leaving behind the echoes of tension and shattered illusions, you felt a strange mixture of relief and sorrow.

Max led you through the ornate hallways of your family home, the grandeur of the surroundings now feeling suffocating. The air outside was cool and crisp as you stepped onto the front porch, the distant sounds of the night providing a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere within.

He turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and concern. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect it to be like this."

You managed a small smile, appreciating his genuine intentions. "It's not your fault. Thank you for trying."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Your family... it's not what I expected."

You nodded, feeling a lump forming in your throat. "It's never been easy."

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but you deserve better than this," Max said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

As Max navigated the darkened streets, a palpable tension and heavy silence filled the car ride home between you and him. The glow of streetlights cast fleeting shadows across his determined expression, the lines of worry etched into his brow.

You sat beside him, lost in your thoughts, the events of the evening replaying in your mind like a broken record. The weight of the strained interactions with your family weighed heavily on your shoulders, a burden you couldn't shake.

Max glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, breaking the silence that had enveloped the car.

You sighed, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. "I don't know, Max. Tonight was… a lot. I’m sorry for Gabriella."

“They shouldn’t have said any of that.” Max ignored your comment, “that’s not- even I know that’s now how you treat family.”

“I’m sorry for Gabriella.” You tried to tell him once again, instead finding his hand reaching out to tangle it into yours. 

As Max's hand intertwined with yours, a comforting warmth spread through your fingertips, grounding you in the present moment. His touch was a lifeline, offering solace amidst the turmoil that had consumed your family gathering. You squeezed his hand gently, appreciating the silent support he offered.

Max pulled the car over, letting him turn to you and gaze into your eyes.

"I know you're sorry, love," Max whispered, his voice laced with understanding. "But you can't take responsibility for someone else's idiotic words. Gabriella's actions were uncalled for, and it's not your parents should have stopped it, not… Encouraged it."

His words resonated deep within you, reminding you that you were not solely accountable for the strained relationship with your parents. The weight on your shoulders began to lighten as if Max's presence alone could alleviate the burden.

You turned to him, finally meeting his concerned gaze. "Thank you, Max. Your support means the world to me."

He smiled softly, his eyes filled with tenderness. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what. We'll get through this together, alright?"

A surge of gratitude washed over you, grateful for the unwavering love and understanding Max consistently provided. You squeezed his hand once more, as he pulled out of the ditch. 

The car continued to glide through the darkened streets, but the heavy silence had transformed into a comforting embrace of shared vulnerability.

As the glow of streetlights continued to cast fleeting shadows, you realised that it was in the darkest moments that the strength of your relationship with Max shone the brightest. And with his hand clasped firmly in yours, you knew that together, you could weather any storm or awful family dinner.

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, sorry that it took so long to post this one

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 5

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

Ah, here we are! The last chapter in the Hocus Pocus AU by @jackofallrabbits and me! Once more, I'm honored and thrilled to have @deliasmilkshake's cover art for the finale! I can't say how grateful I am for everyone's support and lovely comments on this little series! There's a wedding to attend, so let's get to it <3

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.

———

The coolness of the woody air, cut away from the hot and claustrophobic space of the crowded gymnasium overflowing with celebration, brushes over your skin. Half-bare in your ruined sweater, you shiver. Eclipse eases you with a soft sound. His fingertips slip under your sweater and trace over your back to soothe the goosebumps prickling your flesh. Leaning deeper into him, you clutch him tightly in your arms.

You’ve never held someone so close before.

If you don’t open your eyes now, you’ll never believe this is real. The witches. The curses. The ceremony. All of it will be a dream on one cold October night while you lie in bed alone.

So you do. Little by little, you lift your cheek from his chest and tilt your head back, and behold the unnatural man, come back from the dead, who awaits your vows. His eyes glimmer gently in rich golden hues. The sharp cuts of his sun rays remind you of the encroaching sunrise, and you realize the sky is losing its stars as the black dillutes into a dawn of dark gray.

“We will have the ceremony here.” Eclipse inclines his head around you. “It may be simple, but it is only for the time being. When there is no urgency, we will celebrate properly with food and wine and the most beautiful altar. It will be to your heart’s desire, little comet.”

You look around to find what he describes as simple, and balk softly. You are not in the high school gym set in town but a clearing filled with half-dead vines twisting around the bare ground set amid shadowy trees with whispering boughs and the last of autumn’s leaves. The starlight barely reaches you. Dozens of round, orange pumpkins litter the ground around your feet. In the center of the pumpkin patch is a beautiful black wood tree with thick, bark-cracked limbs reaching high with a canopy of bright red and yellow leaves to serve as your altar. 

Behind you, smoke not unlike from the party Eclipse just whisked you away from swirls and recedes further back into the cold night, unveiling Sun and Moon. They stand tall and expectant, their hands filled with silvery threads like spider gossamer and the veil of a bride. Sun’s yellow sun rays catch your eyes like a peacock fanning its tail. Moon’s hood lays quietly over his head and casts a calm shadow over the scarlet of his eyes. The weight of their gazes fall over you.

They are here for you too. The twitch in your limbs answers to the anticipation overflowing from your core.

You breathe in deeply. There are two people missing. Turning back to Eclipse, your lips poised to ask about your friends and how the brothers might intend to shuck their curses from them, when the smoke behind Sun and Moon continues to dissolve before it reveals just the ones heavy on your mind. 

Michael and Vanessa. 

Confusion crosses Michael’s undead face. Purple flesh upon his brow shoots up in alarm before his gaze finds you in the arms of the eldest witch. At his feet, the white rabbit raises her ears high. Vanessa’s green eyes pierce you with alarm and fright most unspeakable. 

Your heart aches at the sight of them so drenched in dark magic. Reaching out a hand in a placating motion, you start to call out to them.

“Don’t!” Michael shouts overrules yours, as fierce and protective as he has been all through the night. He charges forward. “Get away from—”

Magic spills from Sun’s and Moon’s lips in a twining harmony. Their gazes are steel while their voices lift and multiply, filling the air with gales of hot and cold air before the old leaves on the pumpkin vines shudder. Creaking and crawling across the dirt, the dark green tendrils come to life and snatch Michael’s ankles, stopping him short as he struggles to remain balanced. 

Vanessa bounds towards you. Her small body leaps over pumpkins and scurries around snares of pumpkin tendrils. She dodges a snaring vine before a second, hidden one snatches her, twisting her small little form into its clutches and holding her a few inches above the ground. Her feet kick out. Her entire body struggles as she tries violently to free herself but to no avail.

“Don’t hurt them.” You clutch Eclipse’s cloak until your knuckles turn white. Pleading with your entire being, you find his gaze. “Please. They’re my friends.”

A dryness infiltrates your mouth. Will they be better than what the villagers and witch hunters feared them to be? Can you ask them to be good for you? Your core burns with yearning, the hope of a brighter day filled with peace and joy, not more darkness. Not more pain and fear.

You don’t want to lose them.

Eclipse gently covers your fists and soothes them out until your palms relax against his chest.

“They won’t be harmed,” Eclipse nods towards his brothers. His sonorous voice lowers. “Sun and Moon understand your conditions. We have brought your friends here to give you our gifts, and to ensure there are no more interruptions.”

You nod shakily. A feeble tremble lingers throughout you, raking through your fingers and along your jawline. Your witch suitors have proven again and again their capabilities for wickedness and they continue to chase it through the midnight hours, but not here. They stand still, at your service. How they terrify you. How they enchant you.

Every single night you dreamt of someone to love, someone who would keep you warm and chase away the loneliness. 

Have you found them or are you a love-sick fool still reaching for something that is not yours? 

“Run, get away from here!” Michael struggles against the vines rooting him in place. Leaves twine tighter around his corpse-like body, forcing him to his knees and leaving him bound from his ankles all the way to his shoulders, wrapped up like a cruel gift.

One glower from Sun sends one last pumpkin vine around Michael’s flesh-rotten mouth and gags him.

Vanessa twists and writhes. Her small rabbit body struggles in the grasp of the vine snare and she sinks her teeth into it, attempting to chew through the restraint while her wide, desperate eyes flash to you.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Stop struggling. It’s going to be okay. Please, trust me.”

Michael stops fighting. A fear and anger so raw fills his gaze as Sun and Moon step after you. His fists clench as his jawbone wiggles, but his muffle words die behind the vine covering his teeth.

A strong sound jumps from Vanessa, caught between an animalistic cry and a human sob. She looks at you. Her wide eyes shine with dread.

Eclipse takes you by the shoulders, his eyes burning low as he turns you away from the fear of your friends. You keep your eyes on both of them.

“It’s okay,” you whisper again.

“Come, come, little comet.” Eclipse recaptures your attention with a finger hooking under your chin. “The hour is nigh. Sunrise is too near for us to wait any longer.”

“I know.” Your pulse swells in your ears, beating within you like a drum to a dance that’s too fast-paced for your feet to keep up with.

Your eyes stray from his somber expression to the black tree. Between the red and yellow leaves are dozens of spiderwebs, glimmering softly like silk streamers just for the ceremony. Gently, Eclipse releases you to stand back as Sun and Moon slip around you from both sides. 

“My poppet,” Sun’s voice is sensual and warm. “Allow me to dress you in spider gossamer for this fine occasion.”

You slowly dip your head, all too confused but too uncertain to stop him as he draws out threads of silvery silk. He gently lays them upon your shoulders. His pale eyes swim with passion. A gentle murmur of magic flows from his lips, and you become enveloped in a light and cool cascade of fabric softer than rain and lighter than feathers. You look down at yourself. 

Catching the fading shimmer of magic, you are now draped in an elegant but simple silver gown. A high neck collars you with big, flowing sleeves which cinch at your wrists with thick embroidery. The skirt falls in an A-shape and flows softly in the gentle wind of the night around your feet, almost brushing the dirt.

Your wedding attire. You touch the skirt with a delicate hand as if it may fall apart like a cobweb brushed away, but instead, you watch in silent marvel at the rippling, silk-like glimmer of the cloth.

Strangely, Sun possesses your clothes in his arms now. Your mind spins with questions but you are learning all too well that the answer is magic. With a smirk, he tosses aside the holey sweater and your dirt-stained jeans. The clothes land on the shell of a large, orange pumpkin.

“Beautiful,” Sun lowers his head in pleasure, his hand at his chest and his other arm held out in a formal bow to you. “Never was there a more lovely bride for three brothers.”

You blush fiercely. 

“It is beautiful,” you admit, clutching a fistful of the skirt. You lift it and wave it back and forth once to watch it glimmer again.

“I’m not speaking of the dress, sunshine.” Sun straightens with a grin so devious, you must wonder again if you’re giving up your soul in such a ceremony.

A cool touch falls upon your hand. Claws curl carefully over your wrist. Dropping the skirt, you twist upon your feet to face Moon.

“A veil for you.” He holds it in his other hand. The delicate and sheer gossamer flows like silver water. “Lower your head. I will crown you in it.”

You bow slightly. Moon sweeps your hair back with his cool, careful fingertips and pins the veil upon your skull like a tiara. The soft, celestial fabric falls down around you. Blinking, you stare in awe at yourself, shrouded in majestic silver. 

Moon gazes at you softly. His eyes fall from your hair and he reclaims your palm for a moment to behold you entirely.

“Exquisite.” He bows his head over your hand. “I dreamt of you since Eclipse first told us what he found in his bone scrying. I have waited for you all this time, my snowflower.”

A tremble falls over your bottom lip—not of fear, though there is still an anxious sparking within your nerves. You are washed away in his sincerity. The true intentions of a lover.

You have no words, and instead, gently squeeze his hand.

“May I add one last touch,” Eclipse says. He steps forward.

You lift your head to him as his gaze glows gently in the darkness like twin stars which circle you as his brothers step back. Eclipse sets his hand on your shoulder. Your breath slows as his touch traces your collarbone and falls down your side. You almost sway under his hand holding your hip before he sinks onto one knee to trail his palm along your thigh and all the way to your calf, touching your gown all the way down.

He speaks a gentle spell. You dare not move an inch as a gentle pulse, milky and starlight-like, falls over the cloth. You burn in the darkness like a candle. The gown stands out against the darkness like a comet streaking through the night sky.

“Oh,” is all you can say as you look down at yourself. There are no words which can contain the magnitude of what you feel towards the beauty and thought of their wedding attire for you. Though Sun, Moon, and Eclipse spark and snap like flames with their wide eyes and tall statures, you twinkle bright.

Emotion cakes your throat. Thickly, you swallow it back. 

“A little starlight.” Eclipse smiles, his eyes burning sweetly. “For you are our equal, our partner, our bride.”

You don’t feel powerful. You don’t feel important enough to be involved in magic and ceremonies and love, yet here you stand, swathed in their adoration and gifts. You take hold of your skirt once more.

“Let us begin the ceremony,” Eclipse says softly. He takes your elbow and arm in arm, he walks you through a footpath worn through the pumpkin patch to the black tree, gnarled but beautiful. A most befitting altar. 

Taking your other arm is Sun, sliding close to you with a simmering smile so close to you, you wonder if the slight heat brushing against your cheek is from his presence or the blood rush in your face. Behind you, like a pale shadow, Moon tenderly takes your skirt and follows close behind, keeping the beautiful fabric from gathering dust and pumpkin fronds.

And so you go to your wedding altar.

In times before, marriage served to form alliances between families. Parents arranged such contracts for children to benefit both parties. Most couples didn’t and couldn’t marry for love, rather they were bound for purely economic liaisons.

How beautiful is it that you could arrange yourself into a marriage most lovely?

Your grooms stop at the black tree. Eclipse slips away from your hand, and you look to him in confusion, fearing where he might wander away to. The elder witch grins as he simply looks at his brother. Sun’s hand lingers on your arm, trailing down to your wrist before he steps back, still beaming, still eager, but patient.

You turn slowly under the dusting of moonlight to face Moon. A swell rises in your heart, crashing through you until you’re sticky with emotion. His expression is soft and sweet like milk and honey. He gathers your hands between his own. Looking down, Moon draws the pads of his thumbs softly over your knuckles as if wishing to memorize the bone structure of your much smaller hands.

There is no time at all, but you keep the quiet with him, studying his mild countenance. His breaths are deep and even. A gentle scent of something late and herbal laces him, and you’re taken back to the mausoleum where he tasted you.

His eyes lift. The scarlet gleam holds you tender.

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is gentle in its rasp. His eyes never leave you, drinking you in like wine. “My love is yours, for time and all eternity. I will honor you dearly, little mouse.”

A soft sound catches in your throat, somewhere between a chuckle and a weeping sound. You thought joy would be without tears, but you stand, clutching his claws tightly in your fists to steady yourself.

“I do.” The moonlight brightens as the words leave your lips. You watch in silent awe as the silver glow of the night dances over you both, and you taste midnight upon your tongue as Moon smiles.

He carefully takes your veil and lifts it over your head, allowing the silver threads to fall down your back. He leans in gently. In the way the tide is tugged by the lunar celestial body, you meet him in the small space between your bodies. The witch’s kiss presses to your mouth in a gentle yearning, pushing and pulling so long as you follow in time. You fall into him. Deepening the kiss, Moon cradles your lips against the white curve of his fangs. You sigh contently as you lose your breath in his presence, starstruck.

He releases you, though only your mouth. His hands clasp yours tightly and he softly caresses the back of your hands. Tied along his wrists are deep blue ribbons. Bells jangle softly underneath.

“I will keep you unto me forevermore.” Moon traces your digits with his claw. The soft glow of his gaze fills you with his sincerity.

You sink into his words like a pool of silver. You nod deeply.

“I will cherish you,” you promise in a trembling, choked voice. The power of the engagement drapes over you, pressing upon you the great importance of this entanglement.

“Breathe, little mouse.” He smiles. “I will keep you safe.”

You laugh quietly, too overwhelmed for words but your happiness seeps through all the same.

He kisses you once more before he lifts his head high. Following his gaze, you find Vanessa has stopped fighting. Her little rabbit nose twitches fast, afraid.

Moon offers a spell, deep and cool but releasing. His voice overlaps. A scent of sharp, pungent herbs swirls on the night breeze before he nods his head once more. Your old clothes fly off of the pumpkin they were resting on, and fall onto Vanessa still tangled in the pumpkin vines. 

A moment later, in a shrouded flash of light, vines snap and clothes stretch, and there is a woman where there was once a rabbit.

Vanessa, thankfully, wears your sweater and jeans. Her green eyes fit much better in her human face as she kneels upon the ground and lifts her hands. Long blonde hair falls down around her shoulders. Slowly, she turns over her palm and clenches her fingers. No longer trapped, she gazes up at you.

Shock shines in her eyes, but her lips form soft awe.

“Vanessa,” you smile breathlessly. Whirling back, you kiss Moon once to his slight shock. “Thank you.”

“I will answer to your every desire,” he murmurs, then releases you. 

Moon slips back from you. Before you can think of reaching for him, Sun takes you into his arms. You gasp softly at the warmth of his embrace surrounding you like you were basking near an open fire.

“Sunshine, I was beginning to fear you’ve forgotten about me.” He takes you carefully, slipping your feet onto his as he begins to spin you slowly, like a star tailspinning through the atmosphere. “You could never, could you? Not when I still vye for your kiss—and now, your vows returned.”

You hold onto his shoulders. Carefully underneath the gnarled limbs of the black tree, Sun waltzes you to an unsung song. He hums slowly with a gentle rumble in his chest. His eyes upon you are hungry in the way a candle flame clings to a wick, desperate to devour but unable to spread like a wildfire. 

“No, I couldn’t forget you, Sun,” you whisper. He has left you dizzy and stunned, racing with you upon his broom and then pinning you underneath him upon a bed. There is too much you marvel about him to forget.

He twirls you gently, the moonlight blurring around you between earth and sky before he recaptures you. The threat of dawn seems so close and yet so far away from this wild pumpkin patch.

“That is all I can ask, though you must know, I want more of you.” His grin is wide but honest. How could you expect anything less from the one who has coveted you so zealously? 

His hand rests on the small of your back. Pulling you flush against him, he holds you for one breathless moment, caught like two figurines in the apex of a lovers’ dance. 

“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is steady, without flirtations or sultry suggestions. An honest question from a witch. “You have simply enchanted me, dove. I am at your mercy. I am at your service. And if you will, your bedside, your mornings, and your sunsets.”

Your eyelids flutter. A gentle push of tears make their way past your eyes, and you hold his wide, pale gaze. He searches your face with held breath. He clutches your hand and presses it to his chest, bared open to you. The bells tied to the dark red ribbons on his wrists jingle softly. 

“I do.” You speak with the gentleness of certainty. The leaves overhead ruffle with a breeze that is far more fitting for summer than an incoming winter. Pressed so close, you fear he must know how your heart trembles in the wonder of knowing that he loves you, and you love him. 

His expression erupts in sheer, unadulterated joy. He spins you once more, dancing as if he were walking on air before he dips you low. You intake a deep breath as he holds you above the pumpkin patch. His grin fills your entire vision as his fingers press softly into your dress. He wastes not a moment to crush your mouth in a kiss. 

His hunger and eagerness leaves you breathless as he takes and takes before he gives just as much in return. You are captured within his affection. He is smooth and practiced, and you almost feel self conscious, but gently, he leads you. He guides your lips and teases you with his teeth. Even his tongue brushes the inside of your mouth before he softens it to a trickle after the flood of his expression. You taste a sweetness that slips down your throat like honey.

Gently, he brings you back up on your feet, though he does not release you. He kisses you again, greedily taking more. You are putty in his hands, molded by his mouth as if you were a honeycomb caught between teeth. 

“Sunny,” Eclipse murmurs once in gentle warning.

Sun draws back reluctantly as if being torn from water after days in the desert. You gasp softly, your shoulders rising and falling after the rush of his love. 

“I have devoted myself to you, my poppet,” he whispers into your ear as you rest against his chest. “My love is yours and yours alone.”

“Oh, Sun,” you clutch his shoulders tighter. “I will adore you for the rest of my days.”

“I know, sunshine.” He grins but softly kisses your cheek once in a strangely rare but precious, chaste gesture. “But I must share you or else I will keep you all night.”

He straightens, his arms still encircling you. Pale eyes sweep back and you eagerly look at Michael. He’s stopped fighting as well, no longer thrashing but watching with a strange, conflicted crinkle of his brow. Vanessa kneels close by, unmoving, still staring at her legs and arms and touching her hair. 

Your entire body aches for Michael. The curse stains his flesh and twists him into a silver-screen monster. 

Sun breathes a spell. His voice fills the air in unearthly chants that sweep over the ground and whirl the leaves on the pumpkin vines. They slowly crawl back, releasing Michael just as the same bright flash of energy and power takes hold of your dear friend.

The purple corpse recedes back and unveils the man underneath. Michael’s hair returns to its warmer shade of brown. His eyes blink and his corenas return white while his irises take hold with light and life. Rotten flesh returns to a rich tan color. His torn clothes refill with his healthy size and strength. 

He clenches and unclenches his fists. Slowly, he stumbles forward. Vanessa helps catch him before he folds entirely after being freed from the witches’ curse. 

You startle—is his leg still broken? Vanessa, however, stabilizes Michael, coaxing him to sit beside her. He folds his legs with natural ease—healed and whole.

“Michael, you’re alright,” you breathe, clutching Sun together.

He gives you a nod though in a slight daze. He opens his mouth but then decides against whatever he was going to say.

“Thank you.” You turn to Sun. “Thank you for sparing him.”

“Anything for our bride,” he simpers. With a great sigh, however, he lets go of you, his fingertips trailing over your sides before falling back beside Moon.

Under the black tree, Eclipse stands, patient but enduring.

You face him. He lifts his head but remains humble and composed before gently approaching. The light of a new day is beginning to change from deep gray to a burning orange leaking rosy pink at the edges. The sunrise is as terrifying as it is promising.

Eclipse opens his arms to you. Without hesitation, you enter his embrace as his hand finds your cheek. Tied tight around his wrist is a black ribbon with golden bells. His claws rest delicately on your hip over the silky soft fabric of your gown. Lightly, his thumb caresses your cheek. The gold of his gaze falls over you, gentle as the night. 

“Little comet,” he says, steady despite the impending light threatening to take away all. Yet, he takes his time, tasting his words before giving them to you. “Do you take me to be your husband? I have waited—”

In a heart rush, you utter, “I do.”

Eclipse stares, eyes wide. His red sun rays catch the first glance of daylight, brightening his vision as if a spotlight fell upon him. He looks towards the horizon as you do. You squint slightly against the brightness.

Lifting his hand from your face, he watches the black ribbon and bells dissolve into dark smoke, then nothing. Sun and Moon turn their wrists as the respectful dark red and deep blue ribbons fall away from them as if burned and leave not a wisp behind. 

You take Eclipse’s hand and draw it closer to you, gently kissing his knuckles before smiling.

“You’re free. You’re all free.” You flush deeply as you look to Sun and Moon and their gazes of content awe. “My husbands.”

A soft, strange sound leaves Eclipse. A breath caught between wonder and something deeper, something roiling with adoration. His gaze falls back to you, and again, he touches your cheek. 

“I did not finish my vows to you.” He cradles your face close in his palms, leaning closer as your eyes lock. “I swear to you happiness, protection, and my unending love. From this day on, you will always be warm. You will always have my hand to hold. You will never fear the darkness for I will be with you.”

He pauses, his grin spreading wide. He looks at you as if you were a dream. A living, breathing vision. 

“We are eternally bound to you, our spouse.” Eclipse leans in close. “Say my name, once more.”

Your eyelids slip close for one precious moment, warmed by the brilliant light, and the touch of Eclipse’s hands cradling you as if you were delicate. 

“Eclipse,” you whisper.

His grin is beautiful and lovely. You start as you feel a second pair of arms surround you. Sweeping you off your feet, Eclipse lifts you into his embrace. This close, he smells of gentle spice and musk. 

He strokes your cheek once before closing the distance between your lips. You feel his hunger in the echo of your own—the want to devour but gently, he tastes you. A soft whine catches in the back of your throat. Melting under his warmth, he invades you gently and his tongue brushes against your own. His kiss takes you under, and you drop breathlessly into his grasp.

He pulls and takes in soft, sweet motions. Rhythmic and powerful, he tastes you until you fear you might fall once more. But he will catch you. This much you are certain.

He pulls back gently, kissing you one last time as if in need of the strength it gives him, before his honeyed gaze settles on you.

“Your freckles are beautiful, like the stars upon the night sky,” he says. He kisses the right side of your face, then glides to the left and lingers there a moment. “You are truly staying with us, my little comet.”

You blush, and cling to him. Your hands, however, are gently tugged. You look away from Eclipse to find Moon curling his claws under your digits and lifting your hand sweetly to his mouth. Eclipse shifts you gently in his arms to rest you against his back while keeping you cradled like a bride on her wedding night—you suppose you are such a bride, Sun’s hand traces from your shoulder down your arm until he captures your hand. There, he kisses your knuckles slowly. You close your eyes, bubbling in the blissful sunlight as your husbands adore you.

A kiss like the brush of a moth wing touches your head. Eclipse hums gently against you. You make a soft, sweet sound at their tender affection.

“My husbands,” you say, then laugh a little, beaming at their gentle looks. “I’m going to have to get used to saying that.”

“You will,” Sun purrs, “And there’s so much time for us to grow used to our lovely spouse.”

“So much time,” Moon rasps gently, “You must be exhausted.” He kisses your fingertips until you shiver and blush.

“Perhaps we should take our bride home,” Eclipse suggests gently. “You can sleep in our bed and rest, and when you wake, we’ll celebrate more.”

You stir at the thought. You won’t drive back to your tiny apartment. No, instead you will stay here with your husbands, and the bed you will sleep in will be warm and filled with their bodies. 

You won’t wake up alone.

“I’d like that.” You squeeze Sun’s and Moon’s hands and turn your head back to gaze at Eclipse with a fond smile.

A quiet voice says your name. You turn your head, stunned to find Michael and Vanessa stepping towards you. Vanessa supports Michael’s arm around her shoulders as his strength seems to wane. Their eyes are mirrors of witch hunters from long ago as they behold the brothers holding their virgin bride.

Claws tighten around you. Moon flashes his sharp teeth as Sun lifts his chin high, looking down at the pair with disdain. The arms holding you off the ground squeeze in the slightest until you wriggle. Eclipse nearly keeps you away, but gingerly, he sets you back on your feet.

Michael holds your gaze, his brow crinkled in concern but restored to his natural health. 

“Are you really staying with them?” he asks quietly, his gaze darting sharply to the witches.

You smile at the slight shifting around you. The drape of Moon’s cloak almost falls over your shoulder as he takes your hand close and caresses your arm. A murmur of wishing to return them both to rabbits falls from Sun’s lips, but he merely interlocks his digits between your own. Behind you, Eclipse draws a tender hand down your back, feeling the ridges of your spine through the delicate fabric of your gown. 

“I love them.” You look at your husbands. Their faces brighten, their touches softening upon you. “I’m staying.”

“What do we do now?” Vanessa asks. Her face looks lost, and you imagined after a few centuries of only guarding the starry candle, she must be. 

You muse for a moment, and survey your husbands with a careful air. “Is your home now my home?”

“Of course,” Eclipse answers without hesitation. “Everything that is ours is yours.”

“Then I may invite my friends inside?”

Sun and Moon exchange a glance, Sun more annoyed than Moon’s mild surprise, but they both incline their heads.

“If that is your wish,” Moon gives gently.

“It is.” You squeeze their palms. “We can start a proper home, and we can learn how to forgive.”

“Forgive?” Vanessa balks. 

“Yes.” You look at her as the bright light of day touches her face. Her eyes are truly green and sharp like cut emeralds. “Let’s get out of this pumpkin patch and go home and rest. Then we can make peace.”

Michael looks down at Vanessa. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, unlike my ancestor.” His brow is set firm. To your awe, Michael does not tremble with rage or the need to fight again. Perhaps the witches are beginning to prove themselves, and Michael will give them a chance. Just one chance.

“Very well then, my poppet.” Sun turns to you and kisses you in a sudden burst of heat and passion before he releases you. Stunned, you almost sway but Eclipse wraps an arm around your waist. Sun gestures with his free arm in an open invitation. “Enter our humble abode. You are our spouse’s guests, which means you are ours.”

Vanessa glares at him. Her foot falls down on a withered vine and it cracks. 

“Charming as ever, Vanessa.” Sun flashes his teeth in a grin.

“Sun,” you chastise. 

He rubs your wrist, half apologetic. 

“I will make soup.” Moon muses. “My cauldron pot is where I left it, I hope.”

The heaviness in the air reminds you that the night has been long, and you are dreadfully exhausted. Vanessa and Michael barely hold themselves upright, but they lean on each other.

“Excellent.” Eclipse waves his hand. Smoke seeps up from the ground, swirling around your feet before you close your eyes, and lean into the pillars of your husbands for support. 

The air changes. A slight breeze, warm for October, encircles you. You inhale a gentle scent of rich earth and dust. When you open your eyes again, the brothers’ home is standing before you, same as it ever was, but entirely changed. 

Perhaps it’s only you who has changed, now hanging on to the witches. 

Michael and Vanessa are just behind you and the witches, standing on the gravel outside of the home, disgruntled about the change of scenery or perhaps the use of magic, but you hope they’ll see the possibility of goodness within the brothers as you have.

Eclipse’s hand slips under your chin to lift your head back. His expression warms with the bright new day. Sun kisses your fingertips until you shiver in delight. Moon turns your palm over to reach the delicate lines of veins along your wrist, and presses his lips to your pulse.

“We are home,” Eclipse says. He kisses the top of your head.

You are home with your husbands.

[herefortheships]

Betelgeuse and marriage theory

A Beetlejuice head-canon/theory I have (It's somewhat "Beauty & The Beast" coded 🌹🥀).

Having died poisoned on his wedding night, Betelgeuse's soul is bound by the ritual of marriage.

We already know he will be able to reenter the mortal world if he marries a living person (due to the rules of the afterlife and whatnot), but here's where my head-canon starts:

Bound to the ritual of marriage, if he marries someone he loves, who truly love him back, dead or alive, his soul will be freed and he will be able to pass on to the great beyond next to his beloved (once his beloved passes away as well, assuming she happens to be currently alive *hint hint*). This person has to wear Delores' ring and accept and love Betelgeuse as is. She has to fall in love with his soul. Only loving him truly, wearing the ring, and sealing the deal with a kiss will release him, and that way, in the end, both his soul and his beloved's (it has got to be Lydia, please) can move on peacefully into the great beyond and exist without curses or attachments.

Totally a fantasy in my head because there's no way something like this would happen in canon much to the sadness of my little heart lol, but I thought I'd share it with you all. And who knows, maybe if there's a third movie they will explore what it is about Betelgeuse's character that is so attached to the concept of marriage. Because, listen, maybe the ritual where a ghost marries a living person and can materialize in the living world is something that is bound to the rules of the afterlife, and detailed in the Manual for the Recently Deceased, but the symbols and ritual of marriage is something intrinsic to the character of Betelgeuse itself.

He died on his wedding night, for starters. He was tricked by Delores and fell for her immediately. One could argue he fell quickly because she is so gorgeous and no doubt manipulated him into believing she loved him, and that's definitely part of it, but also, (and I have no doubt about this one), he believed her and fell for her immediately because Betelgeuse wants to be loved. He's a romantic underneath it all, and he wants to love and be loved. He might have been desiring it for a long time, failing to find love throughout his life until he met Delores.

He may exude self-confidence (maybe even to a delulu extent lol) and present himself in this very raunchy way, but inside, I'm sure he desires a genuine love; he wants to love someone and be loved truly. And he died, murdered by his bride on the night of his wedding. Betelgeuse was murdered on the night that should have been the happiest of his life, and his desire for love and a wedding stayed with him beyond the grave, now stained with blood and betrayal and a curse that can only be broken, in my head-canon/theory, by marrying someone who truly loves him, whom he truly loves.

Marriage is definitely a very important theme in Beetlejuice, so it'd be interesting if there's something more underneath it, which could be explored in the next movie if we are so lucky to get it.

[dmgloom]

@yamujiburo this is very much your fault that I had to make this at 4am, but here we are.

The hoot-hoot clock on the wall ticked away the early morning hours as Jessie sat up reading on the couch. It was one of those restless nights where her brain kept reminding her of her various screw-ups. Once, she would have channeled that energy into devising some new caper with James and Meowth, but now they were upstanding citizens- the boys assisting Sam with his research, and Jessie…

Well, here she was, reclined on a couch she helped pick out, living in the house she shared with her wife and her stepson. How much of a screw-up could she really be? Take that, brain.

She only caught herself smiling when it was startled from her face by an unexpected voice.

"Da- Jessie," Ash started from the hallway. "...do you have a minute?"

He called her Dad most of the time because she pretended to be annoyed by it and it was hilarious. To hear him use her name… maybe she had screwed up and the kiddo was about rain down thunderous judgement. Between Delia's cooking and her relative lack of activity- criminal or otherwise- she wasn't sure she was spry enough to go blasting off again.

…But looking at Ash framed in the doorway, she could tell that wasn't the case. He looked small - he was small- only a few years out from the grandest of his adventures when he was ten years old. But he always seemed larger than life, so full of spark and spunk and an eagerness… stuff she'd thought she'd lost long ago. In hindsight, she'd been jealous. But now he looked uncertain. Maybe even afraid.

"What's up, twerp?" She said it warmly- it'd became a term of endearment between them now, though she'd never say it in front of Delia. She folded her book closed and sat up, patting the seat on the couch beside her in invitation. Ash hesitated, looking for a moment like he wanted to flee, but then crossed the room and sat down next to her. "Ash… what's wrong?"

He was quiet for a long moment. Fidgeting with something in his fingers. One of his older badges, worn but well-maintained. A small, bright, multicolored flower turned over between his digits again and again as he gathered his words.

"Do you remember… Celadon City Gym?" He asked finally.

She thought for a moment. Gyms weren't usually her scene, though she'd definitely been to a few, and with Ash… ah. The fire. "Gosh we really bunged that one up. I'm glad no one got hurt." She leaned forward and grasp his arm in sudden realization, "Ash you could've been killed, I'm… I'm sorry."

He smiled and shook his head. "No, not that part. Though I'm glad you aren't blowing stuff up any more." His brief sunny smile slipped back into melancholy. "No I mean, before that. When you helped me get in. With the disguise."

"Oh! That!" Jessie said, relieved, "definitely rushed but some of our better work, if I do say so myself. What about it?"

"I just… nevermind, it's stupid." He moved to stand, but Jessie held him back by his arm.

"Whatever it is, it's not stupid," she said firmly. "Tell me." She relaxed her grip and smiled up at him what she hoped was reassuringly "Please? It'll be okay."

He hesitated again, searching her face for… something, before sitting back down. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"Being Ashley… was fun," he said. "I thought it was just the excitement of sneaking in, and it was that, too but… I don't know, it was… easy?" He shook his head. "I think… I wanted to talk to you… and maybe James? I know he… uh… dresses up a lot. Or did." Ash flushed red as Jessie let him talk. She could tell he'd been thinking pretty hard about this- she was touched that he felt he could come to her, with this or indeed at all. She wasn't really sure where she stood with him most of the time, but now… she couldn't help but smile.

"James and I would be happy to talk about anything you wanted, Ash," she said. "I know it probably hasn't been easy- Pallet is kind of a backwater- and you're kind of a high-profile kid… Anyway, we're both here for you, I can wrangle the boys tomorrow and we can send Meowth off to run some errands, if that's what you want."

"Okay," he said. He seemed relieved already, if a bit still uncertain. "Do you think… do you think you could keep this a secret from Mom for now? I don't want to disappoint her."

Jessie gave him a sharp look. "Kiddo, your mother could never be disappointed in you. She almost broke up with me when I said that Riley kid had maybe filled out a bit better than you at the last Indigo awards ceremony." Ash chuckled and she smiled again. "But. I won't tell her if that's what you want. We can talk to her together, when you're ready, if that's what you want."

He nodded and she ruffled his hair. "Alright, get your butt in bed. It's… ouch, almost 4am."

He stood and walked toward the hall, toward his room. He paused in the doorway, filling it more than he had before, somehow.

"Thanks, Dad," he said, and smiled.

"Goodnight… Ashley." She winked. A bit of a nudge, perhaps, but his smile widened as he disappeared down the hall.

[convito]

Blasting Off To The Past: Chapter 1: The Customers Are Used To This By Now

Finished chapter 1 of my fanfic based on @yamujiburo's Jessie/Delia Pokemon comics. The fact that it's just the first chapter is a development that materialized roughly 5 minutes ago when I realized this thing is getting way too long to write all at once. It's just a fun little day-in-the-life story because I wanted an excuse to write these characters.

Here's the AO3 link.

Below is the full chapter text. Enjoy!

“Meowth, I demand to know why you just kicked me!” James yelled dramatically.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I wouldn’t waste my time kicking you!” Meowth

The lunch rush took its toll on everyone in different ways. For Delia, the strain kept her too busy to notice anything outside the restaurant. For Jessie, it meant Delia wasn’t looking at her.

In the case of James and Meowth, it was dealer’s choice. Today, that meant each blaming the other for the table leg they each routinely tripped over. Meowth’s thimble-sized temper had reached a boiling point. James was mad by association.

Delia had been holding down the kitchen until the commotion piqued her attention, prompting a peek around the corner into the dining area. She saw Meowth seething as his serving tray clattered to the ground, trading leers with James whose serving tray remained pristinely perched atop his fingers.

Then time stood still as she saw Jessie burst in with a face that gave her conflicting feelings, making a Beedrill-line for the bickering duo. How she heard the noise from across town would remain a mystery. The love of Delia’s life was a lit fuse heading straight for a flamboyantly colored powder keg. The focus now needed to be heading off the stormfront before it turned the restaurant into a restauNOT (she took a second to chuckle at that).

“Jessie. Babe. Sweetie.”

The red menace continued undeterred. Delia raised her voice.

“Jessie, stop! Jessie! Honey!”

Still nothing. Delia was desperate.

“STOP, DAMMIT!”

Jessie screeched to a halt, bringing the universe with her. She and her two partners in something or other all turned their heads toward Delia, three identical faces of exaggerated shock. Though Jessie’s sported a tinge of crimson.

“I… buh…” she attempted.

“Delia made a swear,” Meowth whispered.

James simply covered his ears.

But whether through shock or sheer force of Delia’s long-bided power, the situation was defused for now. The residual fallout kept things together until the restaurant finally slowed down. James and Meowth lost their abrasion around each other, more or less back to their regular selves give or take the occasional shared look towards Delia. Granted, not unlike their usual behavior.

Jessie, meanwhile, had stuck around to help however she could. At the moment, she was employing her puppy dog eye technique to try and soften Delia’s mood every time her wife looked her way. Despite coming across more like bewildered Magikarp eyes, which had Delia desperately suppressing a snort laugh at every turn, it probably would have worked even if she actually had been angry.

Eventually, closing time arrived. Jessie had finally released Delia from her fishy look and was taking a break from cleaning to watch James and Meowth. The other two former Rockets were Taurosing around with each other as they took the garbage out back. Delia noticed a wistful look in her wife’s eye. It was one she’d been seeing a lot of lately.

“You miss the adventure, don’t you?” Delia asked warmly.

Jessie gave a slight start at this before nodding. They’d grown to know each other well enough that it was no surprise Delia could read her so intimately.

“I know we weren’t the good guys going after the twe- eh, Ash and Pikachu like that,” Jessie seemed just a bit embarrassed, “but getting out there and traveling around really got my juices moving.”

“Even more than our little battling vacations?”

“W-well, I wouldn’t say…” Jessie hesitated, but she knew she never needed to hide anything from Delia, especially after all this time. “Kinda, yeah.”

Jessie’s regular trips out into the region with Delia to explore and battle gym leaders had very quickly begun to rank among the highlights of her life, and she wouldn’t trade them for anything, no matter how shiny. But…

“I just miss the camaraderie with James and Meowth,” she found herself gushing. “I miss the cartoon-level plans we came up with together, I miss the big Meowth balloon, I miss James’ camp cooking and Meowth’s snoring, not to mention-”

“I’m sorry, what was that about Meowth?”

“Oh, right, you never heard his outdoor snoring. Only happens when he’s camping. Real conker of a wavelength he could belch out, which you wouldn’t expect from a little fart like him. I think he developed it as a defense to make predators think a Snorlax is sleeping nearby or someth-”

“What?” Delia had trouble getting a word in edgewise sometimes, a trait of their relationship she oddly treasured. She liked seeing Jessie excited. “No, why would I ask to hear about…? Never mind, I meant the balloon thing.”

“Ok, yeah, that makes more sense,” Jessie admitted. “It was a thing of genuine beauty. A huge hot air balloon in the shape of Meowth. We even used official Team Rocket funds to commission it. They seemed cool with it.”

“I’d like to point out that they did very much fire you.”

“Oh yeah,” Jessie said with a guttural giggle. “Wow, things are definitely starting to make some more sense now that I say them out loud. But anyway, we used to go everywhere in that balloon. It was our own little home where we never had to deal with property tax. We’d sleep up there, have some fun by spitting off the sides, do… other things off the sides…”

“Honey, I love you but oh my god.”

“Hey, if you can think of other ways to handle being up in the air for days at a time…” Jessie’s old smug nature crept in, which she caught before going any further. “Th-the point is I just miss the balloon. It was sort of a symbol of that complete freedom we used to have. Nothing tying us down, literally. No rules. No responsibilities. No bosses or authori-” she paused, her expression that of a system reboot. “How did we not get fired sooner?”

“I didn’t realize how much you thought about that time,” Delia started to feel just a touch of guilt. Or was it jealousy?

“Not 'all the time' or anything. Some things just remind me of that past life. Like how James and Meowth have been sniping at each other a lot lately,” Jessie said with a look of dawning realization. “They must be feeling homesick too. Or, I mean ‘homesick’ I guess,” she made some halfhearted quotes with her fingers. A glance over at Delia dropped the fingers immediately as Jessie read her wife’s expression, as subtle as it was.

Jessie wordlessly walked over to Delia, not rushing, not holding back, simply going. She took her hands in her own and clasped them.

“I am happier now than I’ve ever been,” Jessie answered a wordless question. There was no need to explore the topic further. This is the most she’d talked about the old days since, she realized, that awkward time when she, James, and Meowth had shown up on Delia’s doorstep completely out of options. It was enough that she got it out.

Delia just smiled. It was a genuine smile, but one that obscured hidden depths. Depths that ironically flew right over Jessie’s head.

Once they finished closing, Jessie and Delia stepped out of the restaurant hand in hand, following James and Meowth who had apparently regained their passion for griping. Jessie paid little attention as they fired quips back and forth, sounding to her like synthesized speech from a Nintendo 64 game. She was content where she was, blissfully strolling home with the love of her life. No thoughts, just vibes.

If she’d only opened her eyes, she’d have seen the poorly-hidden look of sneaky determination emblazoned on Delia’s face.

-the next morning-

“Ash!” Delia burst into her son’s room. “We’re making a balloon!”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

you guys… we got her 👀

***Spoilers for the White Rabbit Fest event below the cut!!***

> insert obligatory joke here about how Deuce’s mom has got it goin’ on/j

(NGL I THOUGHT THAT SILHOUETTE WAS ROOK FOR A HOT SECOND 😭)

Her name is written as “Dira” in katakana, so that could be romanized as “Dilla” or “Dilah” (but we won’t know for sure until an official English localization is out). The clothes… She works for a home delivery service as a truck driver.

UPDATE: Her localized name is "Dylla"! I'll be updating her name tag on all relevant posts.

That spade earring + blonde-ish hair makes me wonder if the fan theories about Mrs. Spade being a former delinquent herself are true…? Although it could also be just her natural navy hair color fading to a lighter color from time (I do see streaks of navy there)! Those could also be highlights like Lilia’s. Or maybe it’s stress prematurely aging her hair—

[moon-delia]

★ ៸៸៸ FRIENDSHIP 1 ╱ post ❜ ✸ ៸ !?!

Good friendships can turn a decent story into a memorable one as, it not only does it make the reader care more about the story, it adds emotional weight to the story.

But there's one problem. Good relationships are difficult to write. You thought writing romance was difficult? Well, writing friendships is a whole new level of difficulty.

Romances normally rely on professions of love and staring into one's eyes for lengthy periods of time. But, how do you develop friendships?

# ៸ make each character their own person.

If a character's only purpose in the story is to act as "the friend", then it's guaranteed that they will be a flat and uninteresting character. This will lead to a friendship that no reader will be invested in.

Unfortunately, a lot of stories are like this ― you have your main character, and then their 1-dimensional friend who might crack a joke every once in a while. 

We have some good examples from movies like Samwise Gamgee from The Lord of the Rings. He isn't just "Frodo's friend" who tags along. He's a gardener and a cook. He has a fascination with elves, a crush on Rosie, and a bad habit of eavesdropping. He is loyal, brave, and can persevere even when there is seemingly no hope.

You see this is in Toy Story as well. Even though Woody and Buzz both have the same goal ― to escape Sid's house ― they both have different journeys. The story means different things to each of them. Woody learns to not be as selfish and Buzz struggles with accepting that he is just a toy.

# ៸ give them something in common.

Once you have fleshed out your characters, you need a reason for them to be friends. What brought them together? What gives them the reason to hang out? You need to give them similarities.

This can be a number of different things, like:

★ Status

★ Hobbies

★ Struggles

★ History

★ Background

★ Interests

★ Enemy

★ Goals

★ Dreams

# ៸ give them meaningful differences.

Once you've established their similarities, it's time to dig deeper and create their meaningful differences. Don't just make your characters different. Give them meaningful differences that can build off of each other.

With those differences, your characters can help support their strengths and build them up during their times of weakness. This can lead to a strong friendship.

Here are some great ways to give them differences:

# ៸ skills.

★ One of the friend can be smart in terms of intelligence while the other is good at using her hands and inventing stuff.

★ One might be good at coming up with plans, while the other might be good at improvising when the plan goes awry.

# ៸ conflict resolution.

★ If there is a bully bothering them, one might want to go and blow up at the bully, while the other chooses to ignore it.

★ If they are having an argument, one friend would want to talk it out maturely, while the other just likes to play devil's advocate and throw more heat into the argument.

# ៸ personality.

★ One is confident and sly while the other is shy and awkward.

★ A is cold and determined while B is relaxed and compassionate.

★ B is an easy-going pleasure seeker, and B is a serious planner.

# ៸ method of action.

★ Both friends are trying to break into a house. One will look up videos on YouTube about how to pick a lock. The other friend will just break the window with a rock.

★ The two friends are trying to persuade someone to do something. One friend uses bribing techniques, and the other friend uses a more passive-aggressive approach.

# ៸ reaction.

★ One friend with freak out and the other friend will stay calm.

★ A will get discouraged and want to give up, and B will encourage them to keep going.

★ One person is terrified out of their mind, while the other tries to stay positive.

[itsawritblr]

Editing my WIP.

[insomniac-hours]

Yantober

Welcome to my October writing list!! I’ll be using this upcoming October as motivation for creating yandere ocs!

This is literally just a list for me to make one new oc everyday for October :)

If anyone wants a taglist, do let me know

01 // Witch

02 // Candy

03 // Fangs

04 // Insect

05 // Ghostface

06 // Dragon

07 // Alternate

08 // Lovesick

09 // Serial Killer

10 // Spider

11 // Moon

12 // Alien

13 // Blood

14 // Cult

15 // Zombie

16 // Haunt

17 // Masquerade

18 // Imposter

19 // Nightmare

20 // Carve

21 // Carnival

22 // Grim Reaper

23 // Costume

24 // Reverse

25 // Sea

26 // Eldritch

27 // Horror

28 // Angel

29 // Summoning

30 // Tentacles

31 // Mask

[struggling-with-drivers]

People Watching - Lando Norris

⋗ Pairing - Lando Norris x Reader

⋗ Summary - You've never been in love, at least you don't think you have

⋗ Word count - 2k words, fluff, [Requested by Anon]

⋗ Masterlist - requests are open, this was just a short cute idea I had on my mind after getting a request. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated

You’re enjoying a nice lunch with Lando. He has a lot of things to be doing after, but for now. It’s just the two of you, a set of good friends. Your eyes wander over his face, a soft look of concentration is on his face as he tries to take pictures of you and your lunch. The way his lips are slightly strained, as he keeps fiddling with his camera. Then he rearranges your glasses, and then he puts them back, before rearranging them once more. 

“Do you need help?” You ask, a small laugh bubbling in your throat, as he can’t seem to get the shot he wants.

“No no, just keep sitting there, you look good!” He chirps up, quickly dismissing the thought of you moving from the pose he instructed you into. 

Your laugh finally makes it way past your lips, at the absurdity of the scene, your eyes close as the flash goes off once more. You don’t notice how Lando mutters, got it, nor how he takes a few more just for his enjoyment. 

“Time to dig in.” Lando scrambles to sit down and stuffs his mouth with his slightly cold food. 

You stick a bit to your food, but your gaze falls out onto the crowd of people navigating outside. So many couples are spread across the grid as all the fans gather to get a closer look at the cars. Despite your perspective from above, the thing most glaring to you seems to be all the hands clasped into others. 

“How long do you think they’ve been together?” 

“What?” Lando looks up from his plate of food, trying to follow your gaze, but he gets lost in the crowd of people immediately, not at all being able to figure out where your eyes are looking. 

“The elderly couple.” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing, as though there aren’t multiple, as though you and Lando didn’t call Max Verstappen and his girlfriend an elderly couple last weekend, despite Max barely being 2.5 years older than Lando and less than 2 years older than you. 

“Three days.” Lando says, voice full of conviction, “They actually met this Tuesday and have had the wildest sex for 3 days straight, before any of their children realise that their parents are missing from the nursery home.” 

You snort loudly, accidentally getting soda into your nose, making Lando laugh with you, as you struggle to breathe. 

After recovering from your soda mishap, you wipe your nose with a napkin, still chuckling. Lando grins mischievously, taking a sip of his drink as he watches you with amusement.

“Smooth move, right?” he teases, referring to his imaginative tale about the elderly couple. “I mean, who wouldn't want a love story like that? Beats the usual 'met in high school and got married' scenario.”

You both share another round of laughter, the casual banter making the lunch even more enjoyable.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.” You sigh wistfully as you glance down at the crowd of people once more. “Not seriously. I mean, I’ve had a fling here and there, and a few you don’t know about.”

“Ouch.” Lando mocks being hurt, as he throws a piece of lettuce in your direction. Missing you completely. He’s an excellent driver, but a terrible thrower. You’re suddenly elated that he never became a handball athlete or a basketball player. 

“I just mean, I’ve never had that big grand love moment, you know. Nobody has ever done any big gestures, I’ve never had fireworks go off during a kiss. Never pictured that American suburban picket fence dream, you know?” You rattle off as Lando leans his head to the side. You can see the grin on his face before the words leave his mouth. 

“And here I thought you loved me,” he throws another piece of lettuce in your direction. It lands on your plate, and you cock an eyebrow at him, very unimpressed. “I don’t think I know anyone else that would get up at 3 am just to make the world's worst pancakes, all because it’s some pancake holiday, and I had to be out of the door at 5 am.”

The memory of that early morning springs vividly to your mind, and you can't help but chuckle at the recollection.

The night before Pancake Day, you meticulously planned your pancake surprise for Lando. You envisioned a perfect morning: the smell of freshly made pancakes wafting through the air, the joy on Lando's face as he discovered the delightful breakfast you had prepared just for him. However, the universe had other plans.

At 3 am, you tiptoed into the kitchen, trying your best to be as quiet as a ninja. Armed with a box of pancake mix, a whisk, and an optimistic spirit, you were ready to conquer the culinary world for the sake of surprising your friend.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you moved with caution, not wanting to wake anyone up. As you began mixing the ingredients, you felt a surge of determination. This was going to be the breakfast surprise of the century. You even hummed a little tune as you worked, believing that love and effort could conquer any culinary challenge.

However, in your sleepy stupor, you made a crucial mistake. The sugar and salt containers looked eerily similar in the low light, and without double-checking, you confidently poured what you thought was sugar into the mix. Little did you know, you had just set the stage for a disastrous flavour profile.

Undeterred, you moved on, mistakenly grabbing the baking powder instead of the baking soda. As you mixed the concoction, the batter started to take on an unusual texture, but you pressed on, convinced that your culinary masterpiece was just a few flips away.

With the batter ready, you heated the pan and poured the first pancake, envisioning its perfect golden-brown finish. However, the sizzle that followed was more like a hiss, and the kitchen started to fill with an unpleasant aroma. You tried to fan away the smoke, hoping that the burnt scent wouldn't reach Lando's bedroom.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. As the smoke thickened, a piercing sound echoed through the apartment – the unmistakable wail of the smoke detector. Panic set in, and you rushed to open windows, waving a towel at the alarm, and desperately trying to save the surprise.

Meanwhile, Lando stirred in his sleep, disturbed by the cacophony of the smoke detector. He stumbled out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed and disoriented, only to find you amid your culinary chaos, smoke billowing around you.

“Ah, Pancake Day,” you say with a grin. “I thought it would be a fantastic idea to surprise you with a breakfast feast before your busy day. On the other hand, I gave you a free day off from having to sit in on a bunch of meetings.”

“Yeah, because my house nearly burnt down, and a bunch of firefighters showed up.” Lando waves his fork at you. “I doubt a lot of other people would have done that.”

“Tried to burn down your flat?” You mock him, as you flick the piece of lettuce back to his plate. 

He laughs, shaking his head. You’re missing his point, but he’s also not attempting to make it clearer for you. 

“What about when I stay up with you on the phone, because a sale is starting past midnight, but you’re barely holding it together and it’s not even 10 pm? Isn’t that an act of love?” He asks, but he leaves no room for you to answer his question as he goes back to eating. 

Lando can’t see the storm that’s slowly brewing behind your eyes, as you go over memories of your friendship. All the small things you do for each other. All the time you spend together. 

As the memories flood your mind, you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. The snippets of shared moments and small gestures between you and Lando become a cherished montage.

There's the time when he surprised you with a playlist of your favourite songs on a day when you were feeling down, the carefully curated mix capturing the essence of your friendship. You remember the genuine joy on his face as he handed over the playlist, completely aware of how much music meant to you.

Then, there are the instances when you stayed up late into the night, listening to his racing stories and sharing in his victories and disappointments. You recall the laughter and camaraderie that transcended the distance, making those late-night conversations a treasured part of your connection.

Lando smirks mischievously as he eyes the last bite of your dessert.

"Mind if I grab that last piece? You know I need the extra energy for my thrilling life as a driver."

You narrow your eyes at him, holding the fork protectively. "Oh, please. The only thrill you get is trying to beat me at Mario Kart."

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I'll have you know that being a Mario Kart champion requires skill and precision. It's practically a training regimen for the racetrack."

You scoff, taking a deliberate bite of the dessert. "Skill and precision? Last time I checked, you kept getting stuck in the void on Rainbow Road."

"That was a strategic move. I needed a better view of the stars," he replies with a grin, trying to swipe the fork again.

You playfully slap his hand away. "Nice try, but you're not getting this last piece. I already had to fight off your trainer once this month, because you keep stealing my food."

Lando feigns offence, placing a hand over his heart. "Are you saying I don't have the physique of a finely tuned athlete?"

"I'm saying you have the physique of someone who eats all the desserts that aren’t meant for finely-tuned athletes," you retort, 

He leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, at least I can burn it off on the track. What's your excuse?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I burn calories, dodging your attempts to steal my food. It's a full-body workout, really."

"Fair enough. But mark my words, next time we play Mario Kart, you won't stand a chance." Lando laughs, shaking his head. 

"Bring it on, slowpoke. I'll be waiting with banana peels and blue shells," you challenge, finishing the dessert triumphantly, savouring the last bite right in front of him. Silence falls as he starts typing on his phone, and your mind gets distracted by what he said earlier.

As Lando mentioned, the nights when he stood by you during stressful sales and business endeavours resurface in your mind. The unwavering support he offered, even when the clock struck midnight and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you, painted a picture of love in the small actions.

And of course, there are the countless times when he'd spontaneously pop by with your favourite snacks or the coffee blend you adore, just because he remembered. Those little acts of consideration spoke volumes.

Lost in these memories, you realise that love comes in various forms. It's not always grand gestures or sweeping romantic moments. It's found in the everyday kindness, the shared laughter, and the unwavering support that defines your friendship with Lando.

A thought strikes you down.

Do you love Lando?

Lando glances up from his phone, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. He meets your gaze, and there's a silent understanding between you. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of shared laughter, failed pancake attempts, and genuine care, you realise that love, in its purest form, is already present in the beautiful tapestry of your friendship with Lando.

An even more terrifying thought hits you as he looks at you with that soft smile and those shiny eyes. 

Does Lando love you?

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, I had a lot of fun writing this small piece, it was just pure fluff and enjoyment

[bkgrl]

Ok, I know it's totally random but I'm at a store right now trying different kinds of accessories and whenever I try to put a choker on I get this weird suffocating feeling like someone or something is wrapping their hands, something, around my neck and slowly pressing on my neck. ( it's a weird thing that I've had for a long time, even turtlenecks are a drag for me but not as bad as those kinds of necklaces )

And I just thought, what if Katsuki had the same feeling but with ties and that is why he doesn't wear them anymore/often ?

( if I remember correctly even his costume for the i-island arc didn't have one? )

[picnokinesis]

THE HISTORY BETWEEN US AUDIOBOOK by @77yearsteam IS FINALLY HERE!!! And that means that the soundtrack that I've spent the last several months writing too is ALSO HERE!!

Please go an support the audiobook, you can get it for just a fiver over on BigCartel, and all the money is going to the fantastic charity MicroRainbow - and when you buy the audiobook, you get the digital download of the soundtrack compilation album FOR FREE as well!! But if you'd rather just listen on youtube, the entire OST is also available over on my music channel, and you can find the playlist right here.

I'm genuinely so proud of this piece of work - both the audiobook and everything this team has accomplished together, but also just the music that I've managed to compose. This is the biggest music project by FAR that I've ever composed for - it ended up being over an hour's worth of music, and it taught me so much, and I'm honestly just so grateful that I've been a part of this. All the music (barring two tracks) are written using 'found sounds' - turning sounds recording in the world around me like alarms and squeaking gates into synthesisers. Just like how Delia Derbyshire wrote the original Doctor Who soundtrack, only digital! So this is very much a humble homage to her, and all the other fantastic composers for Doctor Who who've inspired me over the years.

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

Honestly, I think I’ve discovered the actual reason Amber and Alfie don’t work in HOA like they work in the original HHA or DHA. And it’s not entirely due to the actual canon events that are written for this version of the pairing (the dating handbook, Amber’s “no” to Alfie’s attempt at breaking up, forcing Amber into the trial relationship in the first place, etc., etc.), though it certainly doesn’t help. It actually comes down to how their characters were adapted for the English version of the show, and how they are fundamentally different than the OGs.

I’ll start with Alfie first. Alfie in HOA is a goober. He’s doofy, well-meaning, and most importantly childlike. Not even just childish, but childlike. He’s boyish and bubbly, and he certainly makes some weird, sorta sexual comments (especially in S1), but on the whole he’s quite an innocent character. Essentially, he reads as very young. Which he is, especially at the start of the show where he’s probably supposed to be about 15/16, but could even be as young as 14.

Appie, on the other hand, is also a goober. But a different type. He’s honestly way more like Jeroen than Alfie is like Jerome, meaning he’s a something of a womanizer, a bit douchier, and on the whole reads a lot older than Alfie, which I’m almost certain is canonical across all characters (with HHA characters supposedly ending the show at the age of 19, with the timeline across the 4 seasons being only two years— three at most).

The few things character-wise both Appie and Alfie share intrinsically are that they’re besties with Jeroen/Jerome who doesn’t always treat him well, his love for a good practical joke, and (in earlier seasons) his pining for Amber. Of course, Appie also goes through phases of being a bit of a ladies man (see his random interest in Mara), but on the whole these things are constant. But already, the English version of the character is a lot more twinkly eyed and is like “Amber’s really pretty, I hope she notices me” as opposed to the Dutch “Damn she’s hot, lemme tap that”. It’s very subtle, because he’s obviously not a sleazy, bad guy, but it’s though being friend zoned by Amber (for the whole series) that Appie begins to loosen up and be less of a sleaze and more of the silly and whimsical guy we know him as; that’s because of Dutch Amber’s characterization.

I’ll come back to why all that matters, after I discuss the Ambers. (For the sake of keeping track, I’ll refer to them by their last names). Rosenbergh is a rich, pretty, ditzy party girl, but she’s incredibly perceptive. She sniffs out bullshit in an instant, especially with the Mick and Mara situation, but overall she has wicked foot-in-mouth syndrome and just sorta blurts out the first thing that pops into her head even if it’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heart in your life. She’s extravagant, over-the-top, full of whimsy, and is downright silly. Rosenbergh is simultaneously a ditz and very smart. Simultaneously is the key word here.

Millington is not. She is a much more toned down version of her OG counterpart, and I think that is mostly due to the different actresses takes on the character. This isn’t to say, Millington isn’t any of the those of adjectives I used earlier, but the difference between the English and the Dutch versions of the character is that while Rosenbergh is both smart and ditzy, Millington is simply smart and plays at being ditzy. At least that’s how it reads, and how it reads is incredibly important in this case. Millington would never be caught dead in some of the situations Rosenbergh found herself in, because she’s a fundamentally more uptight version of the character.

So why does all this matter? Because the version of Alfie that we get from the very start is far more like Appie after a good hunk of his subtle character development— far more like Amber Rosenbergh. Amber Millington, on the other hand, is not the type of girl to ever mesh that well with a wild, goofy personality like Alfie’s. She’s just not. Alfie would work super well with Rosenbergh, however, because she’s this whimsical girl with a lot of heart. It’s why Appie works so well with her, too.

This isn’t a diss of HOA!Amber, by the way, because her English characterization is a masterful adaptation of the OG, but there’s a reason why even in S3 of HOA, at the supposed established point of Amfie’s relationship, they still feel so estranged from each other. At the end of the day, Millington has a different outlook on life and an entirely different mindset than Alfie. This isn’t to say they couldn’t work ever, but they’re just not the same pairing that Amber/Appie are.

It also didn’t help that Amfie had no best friends era. Like, sometimes I think we forget that Amber and Appie didn’t get together until the reunion movie. Like they weren’t a canon couple in the series. He liked her, but she didn’t like him back and they were besties. Their chemistry was chaotic and silly, and they had to grow into each other for them to work. Which is why they work. Amber and Alfie never did that, and part of me wonders if that wasn’t entirely because of the plot the English writers put down for them, but rather because the ways Ana and Alex played the characters off each other just didn’t allow for it.

Which brings me to my last point: Willow. Arguably, Willow is more like HHA!Amber than HOA!Amber is, and that’s all because of the magic word I’ve been using this whole, poorly-written essay: whimsy. Willow is the glitterbomb to Alfie’s fuse. Their dynamic feels exactly the same as Appie and Amber because Willow is the writers’ second attempt at having Amber Rosenbergh in the picture, and that’s why Walfie works so much more naturally.

Anyway, this got long and I’m sure I missed stuff but yeah. TL;DR: Amfie was unable to replicate Ampie bc they’re just different

[rosiebeetle]

Here is a one shot request from @mossthegoblinart this one was SO fun to write! It's very cheesy but I think it needed to be.. Sorry it's Beetlejuice is a bit ooc I've never wrote him in the "I'm gonna bully them so they push ME away" way I've always wrote him in the "I NEED TO BE PERFECT FOR THEM SO THEY LIKE ME PLSPSLPSLSPSLSPLSPSKSJSJMDBD" way so it definitely was hard 😭😭 BUT I HOPE U LIKE IT!! It's a whopping 3k words and if u see any Grammer errors nuhuh.

It was weird. Being in an actual *home*. Growing up he didn't even have a home, just a broken, gross, dumpster of a trailer. Sometimes Dante's was a home yeah but a guy can only be thrown out of a place so much before they ban him.

It felt so *weird* to be sitting in this basement. One minute he's green card marrying a teenager and now he's sitting in the basement.. Newly dead.

After all the chaos of Juno and the heartfelt goodbyes they found out that since he was newly dead and died in the house he couldn't exactly leave. The door was being used back and forth so much that it had stopped working, he had no idea how long it would take for it to start back up again but he didn't really mind. The longer he stayed here the longer he could be with Scarecrow.. And the maitlands not that he actually liked them at all, they were losers just losers with pretty faces! And soft hands. And pretty singing voices.. And were kind to him.. Tried to be anyway. They even just sat and listened to him ramble about the guacamole thing.. BUT LOSERS NONETHELESS.

Everything was so weird. He felt like a wolf in a sea of white sheep. Even though the deetz were FAR from normal in breather standards he still felt out of place. He didn't belong here but he was there nonetheless, but if he would be stuck with his favorite breathers on this planet why not make it a little fun. Just because he had to stay with them doesn't mean he would be boring.

It started out with a few harmless pranks. Salt top being unscrewed, charles ties all getting cut into dick shapes, Delia's crystals magically having bites taken out of them, Adams model having a mini dantes on it. It got worse soon. It went from harmless to harmful real quickly.

“Charles honey I'm going to hop into the shower!” Delia walked to Charles and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Alright- wait- we should check it first.. Just to be safe” he slowly got up from the bed and walked to the en suite bathroom. “That dreadful demon broke the water heater. Gave me a burn on my hand!” He huffed and checked the bathroom.

Delia sat on the counter as he searched the bathroom. He tested the water, searched in the soaps, looked inside the shower drain but nothing seemed odd. “Charles honey he wouldn't do anything horrible to me, I think we've been getting along lately!” Delia smiled. “I've been giving him small therapy sessions and I think we've really bonded, I'm trying to get him to calm down on the pranks.. “

Charles looked at Delia, too kind to tell her that the demon wouldn't care at all. “Alright.. Just be careful, after the stunt he pulled with the maitlands I don't put it past him to start targeting us again..”

A few days prior Beetlejuice had been targeting mainly the maitlands for weeks. They had been dealing with the pranks, laughing a long but recently Beetlejuice had pulled a prank that worked up barbara so much that even he was to scared to fuck with her again. Barbara did not mess around when it came to her garden. He had ruined weeks of hard work with his stupid bugs and snakes eating everything up and she was livid. Even after he had fixed everything she was still a bit salty towards him.

“Delia's in the shower” he snickered looking over at Lydia.

“She's not gonna care beej” Lydia rolled her eyes and continued to brush through Bubbles hair. Bubbles was a stray cat Lydia had found at school a few weeks back and the whole family adopted the pretty little lady. She was a calico with a bit of a wobble but she was perfect.

“Yeah yeah whatever” he blew a raspberry at her and waited. And waited.. And waited.. And waited. But there was nothing, no scream, no ‘BEETLEJUICE!!’ no nothing. An hour passed and he was getting bored. “Lyyydiiaaaaa “ he whined, laying upside down on the couch now.

“Told you she wouldn't care beej” she gently whacked him in the face with the tv remote. She had put on some weird ghost movie half an hour ago.

A few minutes passed and Delia came down stairs, her hair a new vibrant color of purple. “Beetlejuice! How did you know I've been wanting to dye my hair lately? Oh you're such a little angel!” Delia smiled and walked to the couch.

“You what?” he seemed almost defeated as he sat up. “don't you h-” he was quickly squeezed into a hug from the woman and GOD she could hug. For such a tiny lady she had some strength. But the hug was.. It wasn't nice. He hated it, in fact it was a dumb hug! It was warm.. And tight, the pressure felt nice.. He could feel himself melting into it. He caught himself and growled a bit pushing Delia off. “Whatever” he flipped her off and sunk down into the floor, into his little basement bedroom.

“What did I do?” Delia looked a bit confused as she looked at Lydia. Lydia just shrugged and continued to watch her movie.

Beetlejuice paced back and forth, his arms crossed and his hair a mix of purple, orange and red. “I'm not a stupid fuckin-” he growled and grabbed a pillow and chucked it at the wall. It barely didn't anything. The red in his hair grew and he balled his hands into fists. “I'M NOT A DAMN ANGEL” he grabbed the pillow and bit it, ripping it with his teeth panting and growling.

He felt angry, he WAS angry. He needed to hit something, he needed to destroy something. He was a demon god damnit! He didn't help people! “People are supposed to DESPISE ME!” He continued to rip and tear into the pillow with his hands. “They should be scared of me not fucking!-” he couldn't even finish his sentence. He put his hands on his arms and scratched. Yes he was a demon but the bed was very comfortable and he didn't want to destroy it. He grit his teeth and plopped down onto the floor. “I'll show them- I'll show them I'm a fucking demon. A *rotten, evil, bastard of a demon.”

It was quiet. She didn't enjoy how quiet it was, that ment there was trouble. “Adam honey?” Barbara looked up from her crochet and over at Adam who was working on some miniatures.

“Yeah?” Adam responded but didn't really look up from what he was working on.

“Do you know what Lydia and Beej are up to?” Barbara just got a shrug from Adam. He was probably just too focused. It was almost dinner though, it's NEVER this quiet at night.

The family had gathered at the dinner table. Everyone was there except for Beetlejuice.

“Where's beej?” Lydia was first to ask as she peaked under the table.

“Oh! He offered to make dinner so he's in the kitchen right now finishing up!” Oh god no. Barbara couldn't even taste that much right now but the thought of eating beetlejuice's cooking made her nauseous.

Without another word there beej was, proudly walking in with multiple hands carrying everyone's food. Surprisingly it didn't look bad! It was some normal looking pasta.

“This is like the only thing I know how to cook so if ya don't like it you're gonna hurt my feelings” he grinned as he set a plate in front of everyone. It was some raviolis with marinara sauce, mushrooms and some onions. Lydia and the maitlands looked suspicious but Delia looked more than happy.

“Thank you so much Beej! It looked wonderful!” Delia smiled at him as he sat down on the other end of the table. Beetlejuice looked way too excited to see them eat. Grinning from ear to ear.

Delia took a bite and the others took it as a ‘it's safe’ and started to eat. The others were happily eating but Delia seemed just.. Confused. She chewed slowly before swallowing and looking down at her plate.

“What's wrong Delia?” Beetlejuice sounded weirdly innocent. “It's just a little beef, won't kill ya” he saw Delia freeze and everyone went silent.

“Y-.. That?-” Delia couldn't form the words as she grew nauseous. Breathing heavily and her throat burned. “I just.. That-..”

“What did you do?” Lydia sounded a bit angry as he glared at Beetlejuice before looking at Delia concerned.

“I just made my ma's recipe!..” He acted offended and sat up, putting a hand on his chest. “Oh wait.. Delia's vegan! Oh how could I forget!” He grinned and rolled his eyes. “Ya know how shit my memory can be kid” he chuckled and lifted his hair to show a smooth brain before he put his hair back down.

He looked over at Delia and she started to cry. It wasn't as loud as he hoped.. It was silent tears running down her cheeks and mumbling about how she was disgusting. His grin faltered a bit as he looked at her crying into the plate.

“Im- I'm a murderer” her voice was broken. He didn't mean to make her *this* upset. He just wanted a bit of yelling! Maybe some over dramatic wailing but she looked distraught. She looked like she actually *did* murder somebody.

He opened his mouth to apologize but it quickly snapped back shut. He's a demon, why the fuck should he care? “It was just a dumb cow Delilah! It's not like it's gonna come and haunt-” he looked besides Delia. “Oh never mind there's the ghost of it now!” He threw his voice and whispered into Delia's ear. “Why would you do this to me Delia.. I had a daughter!.. MOOOO”

Again he didn't get the over the top sobbing he wanted. She looked like she couldn't breathe now, gripping at her ears mumbling I'm sorrys. Charles and Barbara were quick to go to her side and comfort her.

“BJ WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Now he expected that out of Charles or maybe even Barbara but not Lydia. His grin faltered again and he was choked up. “I- well!” He pursed his lips trying to speak. “Not my fucking fault she can't bother to check her food!”

“GO TO YOUR ROOM NOW BEETLEJUICE” Charles' voice boomed and he felt Charles glare through his dead soul. He shut up and quickly scattered to his room in the basement like a dog that had just gotten scolded for eating scraps off the table.

Hours passed and eventually it was found out that Beetlejuice didn't use actual beef in the food. It was vegan. Delia had calmed down but Charles and the maitlands were still angry. Lydia just seemed disappointed.

“I think it's about time we have a talk with him about all this-” Barbara finally spoke up. The five of them had moved to the living room. Barbara Charles and Delia were sat on the couch, Barbara and Charles on either side of Delia. Adam was in an old rocking chair and Lydia was in the lazy boy.

“I agree. At first the pranks were fine but now it's escalated and he needs to know this isn't ok.” Charles looked over at the door to the basement.

“Maybe we need to talk to him about what's ok and not ok?” Adam added. “with a mother like that I doubt he understands right from wrong..” He leaned back in the rocking chair, gently tipping it back before letting it go so he could rock.

“He- he has said he doesn't understand empathy..” Delia was quiet as she looked down at the table.

“That doesn't mean it's ok! Delia, you had a panic attack, I've had to go to the hospital to get my hand wrapped, Barbara's garden was destroyed, it's all going too far!” Charles looked at Delia, leaning forward to catch her gaze.

“me and Adam will go talk to him” Barbara stood up. “He's probably upset right now, we're ghosts so he can't accidentally hurt us” Barbara crossed her arms and looked at the basement door. “Once we calm him down or at least explain what we need to talk about we can bring him up and then we can all talk.”

The family all silently agreed and Barbara and Adam made their way down to the basement.

He could hear their faint talking. He was laying on the ceiling and trying to listen. He heard the stairs creaking and he fell bad to the floor, hitting his head. He groaned and sat up, rubbing the side of his head.

“BJ?” Barbara called. “Not now babes, got a headache.. Maybe later if you and sexy are up to it” he grinned at them but it fell when he saw Barbara's face. She looked mad.

“Beetlejuice. Your ‘pranks’ if you can even call them that have gone way too far!” Beetlejuice narrowed his eyes at her and stood up. “It wasn't even actual meat that's her fault for not knowing how the fuck to tell when somebody's playing a prank on her!” He spat out.

“That doesn't excuse what you did! All you've been doing in this house is hurt people! We let you live here, we gave you a space and your being ungrateful” it was horribly out of character for barbara to actually be *arguing* with beej but honestly she was fed up.

“God you breathers are really fucking stupid!” He grinned but he seemed more angry than happy. “it's like all of you” he walked closer to the couple as he spoke. His voice started to become distorted and a tail slid out from the back of his jacket. “I'm a DEMON” by the time he yelled he was glaring down at Barbara, just a few inches from her.

Usually this is the part where the maitlands run and scatter but Barbara just looked angry. She put a finger to his chest and started to push back. “Well demon or not you could at least show some manners!” When the hell did she get so strong? He started to take steps back, if he didn't voluntary step he would have been pushed over. “You are a member of this household and a part of this family whether you like it or not!” She yelled pointing a finger at him.

He was silent as his demon features slipped back into hiding. “A part of this family” he repeated in his mind. It didn't seem too bad. But it was scary. It wasn't familiar. He didn't belong here, bye wasn't like them. He wasn't perfect, he didn't do the whole family bullshit. “I'm not a part of your stupid delusional sitcom bullshit! You guys go play house as much as you want but don't fucking expect me to be an obedient little fuckin dog for you all!” He growled and Adam quickly pulled Barbara away. Barbara didn't look scared but Adam did. The fear in Adams eyes made his dead heart twist.

“Listen.. Beetlejuice we- we don't expect you to change everything you've known.” Adam swallowed. “We just want to coexist.. With you. You make Lydia so.. *so* happy and we know you can be kind.”

He was a bit frozen and he heard footsteps and more heart beats. Lydia and Delia. Charles was there but he stood at the basement doorway.

“Beetle?” Delia looked at him and he could see her puffy red eyes and the red that had taken over his hair was now a deep purple.

“Im.. I'm not you- you can't just-” he couldn't even think of what to say as Delia walked closer.

“Your hurt sweetheart” delias voice was soft like a mother's. It reminded him of how Argentina would talk to him when he was younger.

“No I'm not-” he was quick to respond.

Delia laughed lightly. “Not physically, Mentally.” Soon she was in front of him and her hand hovered over beetlejuices like she was waiting for consent. He narrowed his eyes in a confused look and just nodded.

Delia took his hand into hers and gently squeezed. “I know all of this is new to you but you have to understand that we feel hurt when you do things like this beetlebug” she smiled softly at him. “And you can deny it all you want but we want you here.”

“You just want me here because I can't go back home” he growled quietly but didn't make an attempt to pull away, the warm touch felt soothing.

“We want you here because you deserve it. Where's that kind little demon that had that silly little game show with us!” Delia smiled.

“I literally killed your guru and tried to kill you all too” there was a small pause.

“Yeah well Kevin was an asshole anyways.. And besides the almost dying thing I had fun!” She squeezed his hand a bit tighter. “You've helped us all so much hun”

He felt a bit dazed. At first he had only focused on all the evil shit he had done but he didn't even realize the cause and effect of everything.

“If you didn't show up me and Barbara would have never been able to keep our house the way it is” Adam chimed in.

“We wouldn't have met Lydia” Barbara added and looked over at Lydia with a soft smile.

“Me and Lydia would have grown closer apart if it weren't for you.” Charles had finally come down and stood next to Lydia, putting a hand on his daughters shoulder, gently smiling down at her.

“I wouldn't be here if you weren't on that roof bj” Lydia's voice was quiet but it was way for Beetlejuice to hear.

He didn't even notice the tears flowing down like a waterfall until he sniffled. “your all so fucking emotional” he sniffled again trying to wipe his eyes.

“Your the one that's crying dumbass “ Lydia snorted and walked over to beej, throwing her arms around him.

“yeah well you look like a stick of black liquorice” in retaliation Lydia Headbutted beetlejuice's ribs.

“Your apart of this weird little family whether you like it Beetlejuice” Delia wrapped her arms around Beetlejuice too.

“WE ARE NOT GROUP HUGGING RIGHT NOW” His voice cracked as he yelled. The body heat and the pressure made his head feel quiet. There weren't a million thoughts going on anymore. Before he knew it he was getting hugged by everyone in the house now.

He felt weird. His paranoia, his anxiety, it was gone. Everything felt so.. *safe* now. Safe with them.. He felt like his puzzle piece finally clicked into place instead of it getting jammed into it until it fit. He accepted the tears and let himself start bawling. Soft murmurs of comfort. Whispers of it was ok and telling him to let it all out.

Usually now was the time he forced everything away and he would get overwhelmed by everyone crowded around him but it felt perfect. He didn't feel like he was a burden. He was family.. He had a family. The deetz were his family.. The maitlands were his family. For once he didn't feel the need to run away and hide. He didn't need to, they wouldn't leave him. He was there family now.

[mysteroads]

Chapter 5: Finding 'The One'

Summary: A short discussion on fantastic racism, followed by a dress montage! Will Delia find the perfect dress?

Excerpt:

“Still. The idea that you're only welcome in places if you're… bound. That has some very unwelcome connotations.” Delia fidgeted with her bracelets, then met his eyes, something determined and almost fierce in her expression. “I'm not sure I want a dress from someone who treated you like that, BJ.”

That look and those words soothed away that twisting sensation in his chest, and let him smile for real. “Thanks Delia, but don't worry about that. We've come this far. I'm not leaving without you getting what you came for. We can worry about supernatural equality later.” With a snap, he dismissed the silencing spell just in time for Macy to reappear with two garment bags.

“Ready to get started?” she asked Delia. Delia gave Beetlejuice a questioning look, and he flapped a hand at her. 

“Go on. Strut your stuff! We're supposed to be having fun, so let's see some runway action, Dee!”

The others all cheered in agreement, even Lydia, and so Delia followed Macy into the dressing room.

Turned out, Macy was pretty damn good at her job. The first dress was a ballroom dress that would've made Cinderella weep with envy. The dress sparkled, Delia sparkled, the freaking air around her sparkled. Delia made approving sounds and spun in place, obviously enjoying the skirt action, but Macy's seasoned eye could tell it wasn’t the one.  

Dress Two looked like it had been plucked straight from ancient Greece or Rome, all sweeping lines and gold hem embroidery. Lil especially was very vocal in her approval for this dress. 

“It's gorgeous, but not quite me, if you know what I mean?” Delia said, embarrassed. 

“Not to worry, there's plenty where these came from,” Macy said cheerfully.

The snack tray emptied quickly as the dresses piled up. It was actually pretty fun to sip wine (except for Lydia) and watch Delia's one woman fashion show.